


Talents That Can't Be Put on a Resume

by Hollywood_Recycle_Bin



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/F, Future Fic, Romance, Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollywood_Recycle_Bin/pseuds/Hollywood_Recycle_Bin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age 27, Quinn Fabray Hudson is a mother and a widow. She's also Dianna Agronskia, one of the most lucrative hitman in Chicago. But, leading a double life isn't that hard...well, unless you run into Rachel Berry.  AU after Sectionals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by miss_darkmoon. Thank you very much.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Glee.

The air stank of sex, cigarettes and cheap perfume. It was a scent that had become familiar to her over the years, a staple of almost every back room of every nightclub in town no matter how classy or exclusive it was purported to be. The smell was inescapable, even as she moved past the area and up the stairs. The glass door to the office still couldn’t keep it out.

It was a different club than last time. Different night and yet somehow still the same. But then scenery was always the same to her when she was doing her job... maybe that was a good thing. Not that it was a boring job or anything.

In fact it was probably one of the least boring jobs a person could have. Even if certain scenarios she was forced to play out were painfully cliché.

She was in a tight, slinky (read: slutty) red dress and stiletto heels this time. She went by the name Cherry to match the outfit, even if she knew it wouldn’t really matter.

No one ever remembered the names. Even if there was anyone left to.

She gave a girlish giggle, her voice airy; the perfect image of a dumb nameless bimbo, the eye candy in bad action movies who didn’t have any lines. That was her role for tonight; it suited the job. No one ever really looked at her face when her body was so out on display and the sparkles of the dress helped to take the attention off her even more. No one would remember her by the time the night was over, and even if they did she’d be nothing more than a bright sparkly red light that faded away in the light of day.

Of course, all of her roles had been like that; the unnamed, faceless actress in the background. In her world anonymity was a requirement. Anonymity was the key to survival. The slightest step into the spotlight could mean death or worse.

She didn’t mind it. Not anymore.

Her target took a seat on the far side of the room and motioned for her to come to him. His body was so big that he drowned the little red coach he was sitting on. She placed herself on his lap, her arm going around his shoulder as she felt meaty hands paw at her legs.

She used to flinch.

She didn’t anymore.

The man was whispering something loudly in her ears. She was sure it was obscene but she didn’t care. She wasn’t really listening anyway. Instead she reached up to the bun of her hair, taking the large ornate clip out. Auburn locks fell down over her face, fiery and bright. The action reminded her of an old lesson she’d learned when she was in high school.

The hair, the fake laugh, the glittering outfit, her bare skin; they were tools at her disposal. Parts of a diversion, a distraction she used as she slid her other hand around the man’s wide shoulders, sparking hair clip still in her hands. He was too busy looking at her cleavage, pushed so close against him, to notice the small knife she pulled out of it.

He didn’t have time to struggle. He didn’t have time to scream. In less than a second she had drawn a straight red line across his neck.

Blood gushed out of the wound, thick and dark, in the dim light; it darkened the man’s shirt and soaked through the coach to pool on the wooden floor. Her job description said to leave a mess this time. Not a big one, but just enough. This death was only a first warning after all. Groza never believed in overkill like some of the newer guys in the business did and for that she was very grateful.

If the warning wasn’t heeded then the next death would definitely be messier. And a lot longer.

She doesn’t look forward to it. Torture had never been her thing like it was with some of her more enthusiastic ‘co-workers’. She preferred something quicker, cleaner; more precise.

Maybe if she was lucky Groza would give the next job to someone else. He’d always had a soft spot for her.

The guards in the corridor gave her a nod when they noticed the soft clicks of her heels. She sauntered over to them and gave them a devious smile. They knew who she was and what she was doing here. Either they were working for the same people she was or they were bribed enough that they might as well be. They wouldn’t remember much about the saucy redhead that killed the big guy in the next room. The security cameras wouldn’t be much help either.

The change of clothes was in the second stall of the more private ladies’ room in the back. She changed quickly, stuffed the red wig into the bag, and let blonde locks fall to her shoulders. She didn’t spare the time to think about what she’d just done or who her target had left behind. Regret and contemplation was always a waste of time in this business and the files of people who passed through her desk were usually people who had it coming anyway.

The pink dress she changed into wasn’t all that different from the red one she’d just abandoned. It was flashy and tasteless, but in a place like this, flashy and tasteless worked for well for her. In the darkness of the club, people didn’t remember faces. They remember the glitter on her face maybe, the hair and dress, legs and cleavage; they rarely remembered people. Here, the more she glittered, the more anonymous she became.

An old part of her still enjoys the irony in that.

She messed up her hair and splashed water over her eyes so the mascara streaked down her face. The illusion was nearly complete. All she needed was one final touch.

She took the miniature bottle of vodka out of her purse. She usually didn’t like to drink on the job but this didn’t count. After all, she couldn’t pull off being a wasted slut if she didn’t smell like alcohol at least a little. She deliberately spilt some of it on herself and then downed the rest in one gulp before she took a look at herself in the mirror.

Bye bye bimbo #1. Hello bimbo #2. She thought she would call this one Jenny.

She stumbled her way back to the squirming throng of people. Between the epileptic seizure-inducing flashes of light and the ear-splittingly loud techno music, nobody paid her any attention. Her plan was working out perfectly. Only a few more minutes and she would be free from the push and pull of the crowd, the reek of sweat and cigarettes and awful cologne. A few more minutes until she could shed the glittery mask and disappear into the night.

She realized that she had gotten a little too into her role of a wasted bimbo when she crashed into someone.

“I’m sorry” she muttered, her ‘s’ sounding just a touch too long as she felt the warmth of the lithe form beneath her. She couldn’t see the other woman’s face but could smell the faint traces of strawberries and alcohol on her. The flashing lights painted patterns on her tanned skin. She couldn’t quite tell in the dim light but she thought the woman might have been wearing pink too.

Even though the girl was beneath her, she’d somehow managed to get herself up first. ‘Jenny’ was too wasted after all, though she thought maybe she should tone down the act just a bit.

She didn’t get a good look at the other woman’s face until she got up. When she did her surprised gasp echoed from the other’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Quinn?” Rachel Berry exclaimed.

Only one thought went through Quinn’s mind.

Crap! So much for ‘Jenny’...


	2. Blast from the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unbetad...and the characterization maybe a little weird in this chapter.

_22nd September 2021, 02:32am_

 

“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked as she took Quinn’s arm and tried to steady her. It was a nice gesture but Quinn really wasn’t in the mood.

“Trying to leave” she answered coldly as she continued to push her way out of the club. Rachel, being Rachel, didn’t take the hint and continued to follow her like the annoying puppy she’s always been.

 _Whoever said fame changes people obviously never met Rachel Berry,_ Quinn thought as she continued her attempt at ignoring the shorter girl.

It wasn’t working.

“Why did you come here in the first place?” She continued to ask. “Does Puck know you’re here? What about Drizzle? Did you get a babysitter? Cause I know Puck’s a bartender now so someone has to be watching her and...” The music muffled most of Rachel’s words but they were close enough to the exit now that Quinn could still hear her and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“None of your business Man Hands!” She shouted at the other girl and shook free from her warm touch before walking out the door. It’s been so long since she called Rachel that. They had been sort of friends for a while after all and it was a ridiculous insult anyway. Rachel’s hands were nothing like a man’s. In fact they were quite nice.

It’s her voice that seemed to be the problem for Quinn. She had no idea how someone who could sing so beautifully could annoy her so badly with that voice.

There was silence now though and something like guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. Oh well, at least she can still feel guilt, even if it wasn’t over the dead man sitting in a pool of blood upstairs.

“Listen I-“

“I’m going to chock your previous comment up to you being too drunk to think straight” Rachel cut her off.

 _God! She couldn’t even get a word in to apologize with this girl!_ Quinn was suddenly reminded of why Rachel was so painfully unpopular in high school.

“So how are getting home?” Rachel asked, once again taking in Quinn’s (faux) drunk state. “Isn’t your house hours from here?”

“Yeah, I was actually gonna crash at a motel around here. I don’t want to accidentally wake anyone and you know how great my motor skills are at the moment. Also I don’t really want my daughter to see me like this,” she said, looking at the floor in what she knows will be interpreted as shame.

It wasn’t a complete lie. She really doesn’t want to wake anyone up or let her daughter see her like this. She had of course been planning to stay at the apartment she kept not too far from here. Well, the apartment ‘Dianna’ kept anyway. It was a base of operations where she kept her disguises and weapons. She often stayed there after a job. It was safer since if she was ever followed (not that she wouldn’t notice and kill them all first but it never hurts to be too careful) she wouldn’t lead them right to her family.

Plus it felt wrong somehow to go home to her daughter right after a fresh kill.

“No way!” Rachel exclaimed ruining Quinn’s chances at having her usual post-kill routine. “I can’t let you do that Quinn! Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Quinn sighed and held her head in her hands. _What the hell happened? Tonight was supposed to be an easy job. In and out, no fuss, no muss and then Rachel had to be here._

“So what do you suppose I do mother?” Quinn replied with a wry smile. Rachel ignored the sarcasm in her voice completely.

“I know! You’ll stay with me tonight.”

“Excuse me?” Quinn asked, like she didn’t quite believe her ears.

“You’ll stay with me. I’ll call the chauffeur and he can take us back to my apartment. Then tomorrow I can take you home to your family. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Quinn didn’t have trouble believing that last part.

“Fine,” she said eventually. She didn’t have to look at a watch to know that ‘the time to flee the scene of the crime’ was five minutes ago.

“But one condition: no more questions.”

***

The walls came up along with the silence the moment Quinn got into Rachel’s car. At first Quinn thought it might have been due to her ‘no questions’ rule and Rachel was biting her tongue just wanting to burst with that old annoying Rachel-ness that used to make her so painfully unpopular during her teen years, but after a couple of minutes into the ride, she could tell that wasn’t it.

It was in the way Rachel held herself. Not like a child twitching in her seat, desperate to ask “Are we there yet?” just after being told not to, no, this Rachel was different from that. She held her back straight, but dark eyes downcast and almost hidden. Gone was the bright ball of energy she saw just moments before and in its place a woman who’s both painfully familiar and a total stranger.

And still, neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.

It seemed the years past had finally caught up to them. Rachel’s puppy dog enthusiasm and Quinn’s childish defensiveness was only a futile effort at avoiding the inevitable. Without that in between, high school faded away and the years of pain and disappointment seeped in, filling the silent space between them.

The dark silence was still there by the time they got to Rachel’s apartment.

Quinn thinks the heaviness of the atmosphere between them clashed with the brightness of the décor. White and silver with splashes of a cheerful shade of green, it was both everything she expected Rachel’s place to be like and not. Gone was the overly girly, almost cartoonish combination of colours and furniture from her old room back in Lima; replaced instead with a style that holds a certain subtlety. The white and silver gave everything the impression of cleanliness and order, and yet the splashes of colour, the shapes of the furniture, all of it added a sense of whimsicalness that was pure Rachel Berry.

She sat herself down on the couch facing the window and the glittering metropolis outside. She was the first to break the silence.

“I take it back. You can ask questions if you want,” she said. She knows some of those questions might not be east to answer, but she’s sure she’s had worst before. And anything was better than this.

Rachel just stood there for a while, still not looking at Quinn. Eventually she said softly.

“How are you?”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose. She stared at the shorter girl for a while before breaking into laughter.

“That’s it? After all that THAT’S the question you chose to ask me?”

Rachel cracked a smile and shrug, the thick awkwardness in the air, slowly dissipating.

“It’s a cliché question but an effective one,” Rachel defended. “It covers a wide ground and it’s vague enough that you can just choose to tell me whatever you want to tell me without me coming off as overly intrusive.”

Quinn’s smile brightened. “I never knew you could be so calculating Berry. And where was this thoughtfulness when you were hounding me at the club?”

Rachel blushed slightly.

“I don’t know, I just... You were pretty out of it at the club and I was about to leave and I was just worried and I didn’t want you to leave and...” there was a pause in her sentence and just like that, the ice that had melted only moments ago became frozen again.

“I haven’t seen you since…” Rachel couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Since Finn’s funeral,” Quinn finished it for her. “It’s ok Rachel. I’m not going to break if you mention it. It has been four years.”

Rachel gave her a look like she was trying to gage how much of that was true. “Well, no one would know that would they? After the funeral, you fell off the grid. And then, when you came back you still didn’t talk to anyone. I mean, we weren’t all together like we were in high school anymore, but after what happened, a lot of us wanted to help you. A lot of us tried to help you but you were just gone every time anyone of us comes near. If it weren’t for Puck and Kurt none of us would even know that you’re still alive.”

“So what, I have to report my every movement to the former members of Glee Club now?” Quinn’s voice hardened.

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just…We used to be a team. And even if it’s been over 10 years we still care about you Quinn.”

Rachel placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder, dark eyes shining with the same sincerity she’s always had. She was so different from her, Quinn thought to herself as she shrugged it off. She didn’t need to be comforted, and she didn’t need Rachel’s sympathy.

“I’m not wasting away after my dead husband if that’s what you were worried about.”  
-  
Rachel still wouldn’t budge.

“So what’s _this_ about?” she asked, gesturing to Quinn’s disheveled state. She was tempted to tell her nosy former classmate that it was “part of her job”.

“A girl can’t unwind every once in a while?” she retorted instead. “It’s not like I do this every night Berry. I do have a daughter to think of.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply –“

“It’s ok,” Quinn cut her off. She should have expected this to happen. She did pretty much cut off all contacts with her old friends. Seemed like the easier thing to do at the time but then she never really prepared for what would happen if she ever met any of them again, how she should act around them. Most people don’t plan these things of course, most just let it all unfold by itself but she couldn’t afford that. It was too unpredictable; she doesn’t need people worrying about her and getting close to her. Letting anyone look too closely into her daily activities could potentially be very risky.

“So, do you have anything I could borrow?” she changed the subject. “And maybe some pillows and a blanket.”

“Oh right, of course,” Rachel replied before rushing off to what Quinn assumes is her bedroom. She came back a few minutes later.

“This ok?” she said as she showed her the simple silk nightgown.

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. There were stars on it.

“Guess some things don’t change,” she says with more unguarded fondness than she should have. She took the dress from her and idly, she wondered if Rachel still put gold stars next to her name. It would seem impractical now that she has give autographs to people, but then it’s always been a very impractical thing to do. She hasn’t been keeping much track of the world of glitz and glamour, but with her daughter being one of Rachel’s “no. 1 fan” and talking about her almost 24/7, she knows a lot more about the other girl’s acting career than she otherwise would have.

Rachel got her first solo acting gig in her senior year of high school. A guest star spot on some cop show she couldn’t remember the name of. It was a small part but Quinn still remembered because Rachel was going on about it non-stop when she and Finn came over after school. Quinn and Puck had both dropped out of school by then to raise Drizzle in a small crappy apartment they’d managed to get together. They were initially going to stay at Puck’s but after Puck told his mother they got into a huge fight that ended with Puck claiming that he wasn’t his father and determined to prove that he could provide for his little girl.

In the end, none of them could let their little girl go, not her, or Puck; not even Finn.

Finn had forgiven her and Puck eventually. Knowing that Drizzle wasn’t his didn’t stop him from loving her or wanting to be a part of her life. He wasn’t in love with Quinn anymore, but he still came to love her as the mother of his child, and Puck as the other father as well. The four of them were a family, a rather unconventional one but things weren’t bad then, it was still tough since money was hard to come by but at least everything was simple and they were all together.

A lot has changed since then.

In the end both she and Rachel got what they wanted. She got to be something other than a Lima loser and Rachel got to be famous; at least for a little while. Ain’t life grand?

“You know, I’m surprised you’re still in Chicago,” Quinn started once she came out of the bathroom, her old clothes bundled up in her hands. “I thought you’d have gone back to LA by now.”

“So you have been following my career,” the brunette replied demurely, she was now wearing a fur-lined orange robe reminiscent of 1930’s starlets and upon noticing Quinn’s stare, struck a pose near a vanity mirror. Quinn giggled; something she hasn’t done for real in a very long time. She wondered if Rachel only put on outfits like that when she had someone to show off to or if she does it when she’s alone as well. Somehow Rachel seemed like the type who’d put on a fancy night gown with matching robe and full make up just to walk out to her balcony and angst. At 15 Quinn would have found that ridiculous, but right now, she couldn’t think of anything cuter.

Maybe she missed the other girl a lot more than she realized.

“My manager keeps telling me to go back.” Rachel finally answered. “Ever since my show got canceled he’s been pushing me to get out more, said I needed more publicity, publicity that I would get there more than I would here but, well... To be honest I don’t really like it there much.”

Something in Rachel’s voice told her there was more to the story than that, but Quinn didn’t push. She had never been the type to, unlike Rachel herself. If Rachel wanted to avoid the topic, then she’d gladly help.

“So, pillows and a blanket?” Quinn asked again, effectively changing the subject.

“Right, umm, I was actually thinking maybe you should take the bed. I mean, you are my guest.”

Quinn gave the brunette a look. So they were starting this game now. She hasn’t done this, ‘I’m nicer than you; no I’m nicer’ routine since she was living with her parents. Part of her was tempted to take Rachel up on her offer, but somehow she couldn’t.

“I can’t,” she said instead. “And don’t tell me you insist, Berry, I know the whole script. I’m not driving you out of your own bed.”

“Why not?” Rachel asked sounding oddly shy. “I did pretty much drag you here.”

“True... But I’m still not driving you out of your own bed,” Quinn gave the girl another smile. She’s been doing that a lot tonight.

“Alright,” Rachel finally gave in. “It’s a big bed, I guess we can share. It’ll be like the slumber party we never had.”

“Right. And I promise not to have my wicked way with you while you’re asleep.”

Quinn wasn’t sure where that last sentence came from, but it was out of her mouth before she could give it a second thought. Before she could retract, she was rewarded with a charming blush on tanned cheeks. She wondered if there was anything that could make her blush like that anymore. There was a time in her life when she was innocent, she’s sure, but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to remember what that felt like.

Rachel must have choked her previous comment up to Quinn still being slightly drunk, but she didn’t comment. Instead, moments after Quinn got on the bed and pulled the blanket up; she felt it dip slightly on her left. Though the bed was big enough for the both of them without either one of them touching, she still felt Rachel’s warmth radiating next to her and resisted the urge to nudge closer.

It’s been a while since Quinn shared a bed with anyone, even her daughter goes to Puck now when she has nightmares.

The soft sound of Rachel’s breathing steadied next to her. She closed her eyes and after a while, followed her into dreams, unaware that as the night wore on, her body rolled closer and closer to warmth that she won’t admit she missed so much.

***

_6th October 2017_

Quinn watched as Finn gave his daughter a soft kiss goodbye on the forehead, her lips set in a thin line as he heard him tell her, “everything’s gonna be ok sweetie.”

Their daughter was spending the night with Puck at her grandmother’s tonight, and once the car was out of the driveway Quinn gave Finn a harsh look. She wasn’t sure if she disproved or not; him lying to their daughter like that. She’s never been the type of parent who was keen on sugar coating things, she knows the truth can be cruel, especially to someone so young but she got enough of the sugar coated poison from her own parents to last a life time. She swore to herself a long time ago that she wasn’t going to be like them, the Stepford housewife, constantly smiling, letting her resentment for her husband come off in vibes that steal oxygen from the room and pretending everything’s perfect. Shutting her emotions off and pretending her own daughter never noticed how much she hated her life.

No, Quinn was definitely not that type of parent. She was as honest with her little girl as she could be. She knows sometimes that could hurt, but she thought it might be better for her in the long run. At least her daughter would know that she never lied to her and trusted her.

“I’m not lying to her,” Finn tells her, like he’s reading her thoughts, hands coming down on her shoulders, warm and familiar. “I got fired from one job. It’s not the end of the world.”

His voice was soft, and there was a faint smile on his face. She knows he’s trying to be reassuring but it does nothing to calm her nerves.

“I’m not seven, Finn. You don’t need to coddle me,” she said, a lot less cold than she intended. Finn always had a way of melting the ice queen in her, whether she wanted him to or not. “I still can’t believe there’s nothing we can do. I know you didn’t do what they accused you of doing, Finn.”

That she didn’t think he was smart or sneaky enough to pull it off was left unsaid. Finn had never been much of a schemer. Not to mention the fact that Finn had an actual, honest to god, no questions about it, sense of morality. Unlike most people Quinn came across in her life (herself included).

“I know,” Finn said; the defeat evident in his voice. “But we really can’t exactly afford a lawyer right now. At least not one good enough to go up against the company’s corporate lawyer, and you know what they said, they had evidence against me. I don’t know how but apparently it’s enough to get me arrested. They only agreed not to press charges if we agreed to keep everything quiet, and if we fight this with a lawyer and they win, they could have me arrested. I know it’s not fair, but well... if anyone knows about being practical it’s you.”

Quinn just shrugged. She knows Finn’s right this time, but she can’t help the dread that’s curling in her stomach. It hasn’t even been a year yet since they left Lima, since she left that tiny crumbling apartment and all the whispers of people in town, and it looks like she’s already going to have to pack up and go back again. Unless Finn manages to get himself another decent job and quick, there’s no way they could afford to live the way they do in this neighborhood.

“Listen, I know what this house means to you Quinn. I know it’s been hard getting us here but, I promise you, as long as we’re together, we’re going to be okay,” he said before giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, brown eyes shining like always. Finn had always been the most hopeful one of the three of them. It was what drew Quinn to him in the first place all those years ago in high school, even if everyone else thought she was only with him because he was captain of the football team.

Quinn didn’t argue further. It was hard to argue when Finn was looking at her like that. Instead she gave him a weak smile and went her separate way.

That night Quinn twisted in her bed unable to sleep with too many thoughts running in her mind. Thoughts about money, and Lima and the inevitable future; they swirled inside her head like poison in a goblet. She thought of the house, of the big couch she’d sat on with her daughter in her lap watching cartoons, she thought of ballet lessons and how much her daughter loved being dressed in pink and the friends she’d made since she got here. She thought of their old apartment, of the stains with questionable origin and thread bare furniture and the looks everyone in town had always given them. Though her daughter never talked about it, she knew that Lima’s prejudices had trickled down to their offspring and that her daughter hadn’t been entirely happy there. She knew because it was the same for all four of them.

And then she thought about Finn; about sweet and kind Finn; the nice one of the three of them. Finn had always been the kind of man she wanted as the father of her child, not that Puck was in any way a bad father but Finn was different from the two of them. Seven years and so much of him still remained that bright eyed puppy he always was.

Finn gave them all hope. Without a doubt, she knew that without him, all their lives would be so much darker.

For a while she let Finn’s words surface despite the protests of her own cynicism. She imagined that everything she wanted wouldn’t crumble to the ground, that they’d somehow make it through just like the oddly indestructible Glee club she’d once been a part of, or that old Avril Lavigne song that they all sang while pretending the song wasn’t just for her.

Even without him next to her, Finn still managed to quiet the voices in her head, and after a while, she finally fell asleep.

It wasn’t until hours later that she heard the crash downstairs.

It was the last time she ever saw Finn.


	3. The Life of a Villianess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unbetaed

There were three men that night Finn was killed. Even in the darkness of the room Quinn remembered their faces. They haunt her every night. Their hideous smiles, their laugh; but she didn’t turn away from them, didn’t try to forget. Instead she embraced the memories, always trying to dig deeper, trying to remember every detail she could.

It was because of them that Quinn became what she was: a hunter.

Back then it was all about the revenge; all about the anger, the pain and the loss. That part faded with time, like all wounds they heal but that feeling she got every time she killed someone... that never went away. The men who killed Finn might have been monsters, but they’d woken up a monster inside her too.

Some might say that in hunting those men down and killing them, Quinn had become just like them. Quinn herself would probably agree with the statement...Only she’d followed it up with “and if I was a comic book superhero, I might actually give a damn,” and go right back to killing.

Unexpectedly though, even if Finn’s killers were the ones who had woken up this need in her, they weren’t her first kill.

It happened a few of weeks after she started her ‘hunting trip’. She was in one of those dark alleys with dead ends one often found in movies; the ones that seemed to have been made with the sole purpose of shady deals and convenient spots for assault. It was the former that brought her to the place. She needed unregistered weapons and apparently, this was the place to get it.

The new gun had felt cold in her hands; familiar. It had been a long time since she had gone to the shooting range with her father. It was one of the few things they used to do together, one of the few memories left untainted by the betrayal she felt. Her mother had always been against it but father had never been that good of a listener. He took her shooting anyway.

She was grateful for that. It saved her a lot of time in the end.

She hadn’t plan on using her new weapon so quickly after purchasing them. In fact, she’d plan on using her weapon on three people and three people only. She never thought she’d ever kill more than that but her first kill had been a spontaneous one. The only person she’d ever killed, not because she had to or because she was paid to, but simply because she wanted to.

The man had been with her that night, deeper down those dark streets. She didn’t know his name, didn’t even see what he looked like. All she knew was that he was a predator. Just like her.

He had a girl with him, some drunken co-ed in a short skirt, pinned against a wall, hair mussed, clothes torn and kicking with everything she’s got. Her screams were barely muffled by the hand over her mouth.

Quinn wasn’t trying to be a hero when she aimed her Glock at him. She wasn’t trying to save the poor damsel in distress. She didn’t even care too much if she accidentally hit her. The only thought going through her mind was that the guy can’t see her in the dark, and that she had a clear shot.

Without a second’s pause, her finger pressed against the trigger. And it was as simple and easy as that.

***

_22nd September 2021, morning_

Recognizance was the most important basic skill a professional killer should have. That was the first thing that Groza had taught Quinn when she started training with him. There are many killers out there who are extremely proficient with their weapon of choice, many who might be fast or stealthy, but without the ability to swiftly gather vital information and assess them, they would all be dead within a week.

It was a skill that had become second nature to her now. Every morning Quinn would wake up and keep her eyes closed; she would keep her body still and her breathing steady as she used every other sense available to her to assess the situation and locate possible threats. She would listen for the smallest fluttering of curtains and feel for every thread of the fabric beneath her. She would taste the staleness of her own mouth to be sure there was nothing else there that wasn’t supposed to be, and take in the scent that surround her.

It was a morning ritual of sorts.

Today’s recognizance gave her a slightly _different_ set of data though. From the soft texture that radiated warmth against her body, and the rhythmic sound of breathing that wasn’t her own, the feel of legs tangled against hers; the only conclusion Quinn could come up with was that she was snuggling someone.

_Quinn was snuggling someone._

She kept her eyes closed and double checked just to be sure. The results were still the same. She was definitely snuggling someone.

Someone female judging by the curves she felt against her, approximately her weight, but shorter by roughly 4 to 5 inches; long straight hair.

Rachel Berry, Quinn’s mind supplied. And she was still asleep judging by her breathing pattern.

Threat level: 0 Quinn concluded before opening her eyes. Well, when the brunette was still asleep anyway. (Quinn’s not sure how much she’d rank if she were awake but she’s certain the actress would get at least a few of extra points just for her inability to keep her mouth shut.)

Quinn gave a small smile no one could see. Seeing Rachel again brought back memories and feelings she would otherwise leave well buried but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

It had been so long since high school; so long since she’d been that innocent...that happy. She never thought that the time she got knocked up and became the school pariah would end up being the high point in her life, but in the end it did. It was quite pathetic really. Still, she had so many friends then; real friends who stood by her and didn’t judge her no matter how awful she’d been.

She looked down at the hand she had placed on the other girl’s waste; fingers brushing against the slippery material of her night gown and sighed against Rachel’s neck. The scene she was in was so painfully cliché. The brooding, stoic hero and the beautiful, naive heroine, forced to share a bed for the night for reasons beyond their control; the hero too noble and the heroine too innocent for either one of them to make a move, but in the morning they wake up snuggled against each other in a loving embrace.

Quinn gave a snort at the ridiculousness of the idea. She was no hero after all. She realised a long time ago that she was a villainess through and through.

Still, it wasn’t as off putting as she thought it’d be, having Rachel so close to her. She was warm, and soft and still smelt faintly of the shampoo she used last night. She looked very peaceful when she slept. So different from the unstoppable fireball of energy she was when she was awake. Quinn had never been that close to Rachel before now. Sure they were friends but, they had never been that close, so this intimacy between them; it was... unexpected.

But then, it had been a very long time since Quinn had woken up next to someone. Not even her daughter sleeps with her anymore since she’s often away for the night. Maybe she just missed being close to someone.

Quinn let go of Rachel. There was a reason she doesn’t get close to anyone anymore. She had too many attachments in her life already; she didn’t need any more. Attachments were dangerous. They were weaknesses that could be easily exploited.

Intimacy is impractical in her profession. And Quinn was nothing if not practical.

She grabbed her sparkly outfit from last night before going into the bathroom for a shower. She really didn’t want her family to see her in it (not just because of what they would think but because it would bring up questions since she said she’d been on a business trip, which she basically was, just not a business she wants any of them to know anything about) but she currently didn’t have anything else to wear.

Maybe if she was lucky she could shower and sneak out before Rachel woke up and have time to go back to her apartment and change. She’d be pretty late getting home but at least she wouldn’t have to wear her ‘work clothes’.

In the shower she let the water pour over her. She tried not to let her mind wander and instead focus on the present. She focused on the heat and the sound of droplets hitting the marble floor, focused on her own skin, on all the scars that marred its former creamy perfection, and tried to remember where she got them from. She remembered a lot of the main ones; the bullet wound on her left shoulder she got in a shoot out in a club called Atlantis, the knife wound on her back that she got on her trip to Miami, the long white line on her right leg where that shrapnel got her. There were ones she couldn’t seem to remember though, the small scratch on the back of her hand, the bumpiness she felt on her thigh, the little line on her knee.

She never thought she’d forget so easily. It’s only been four years since she started this job.

Of course there were other marks on her skin, ones that were deliberately put there. Quinn had never been the type of girls who would want to get tattoos before but these were different. They weren’t something a kid gets just to seem tougher. The Russian mafia’s system of tattooing is extremely comprehensive. A code system on its own, a language only the ones within it truly understood. Though Quinn wasn’t officially completely considered a member of the bratva, she was still enough a part of it to wear the marks without punishment.

The patterns unfurled across her back, black ink that faded and blurred around the edges, turning dark green and blue. Each picture was distorted with every scar she received; the candles bending slightly with each protruding mark, the daggers chipped but no less sharp, and amongst them all, the tiger, battered but still as proud as the day she first got it. That was her favourite one; a mark of her loyalty.

In her world, scars and tattoos were badges and medals; gained through hardship and worn with pride. It was really too bad that she often had to cover it up. It can be easily used to identify her after all, and with the lives she led, that was really the last she wanted.

The make-up she used to cover them up last night had faded and washed off by now though. She never intended to stay away from her apartment for this long, but it was never easy saying no to Rachel. _Another reason to leave before she woke up,_ Quinn thought before stepping out of the steamy shower.

There was a definite flaw in the design of Rachel’s bathroom. The towel rack was way too far from the shower itself, or at least it felt that way when Quinn heard the click of the door opening.

Instinctively, Quinn ignored the towel and grabbed for the nearest weapon; the wooden handled loofah; and brandished it in an attack pose-

Only to come face to face with a mused haired, wide eyed and confused Rachel.  
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Quinn!” the girl exclaimed, wearily eyeing the loofah in Quinn’s hand.

Quinn sighed. Of course it was Rachel, she thought before lowering her weapon, who else could it have been? She really needs to get control over her paranoia at some point. Grabbing a weapon first as an automatic response to surprises may have saved her life on many occasions, but it could easily end up exposing her in the end. Not that many ‘sales women’ grab a weapon every time someone comes up behind them after all.

It took Quinn longer than she should to realize that she was still naked. And that Rachel was still looking at her.

Damn that girl! Quinn cursed inwardly as she grabbed the towel. Rachel had finally turned around by then. Ears turning red with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry” she squeaked again before quickly exiting the room, leaving Quinn slumped against the cold marble wall and wondering about the other girl’s unique (superhuman?) ability to catch a trained professional killer completely off guard.

***

_18th January 2018_

They were all together again, those three scumbags; Finn’s killers; her target; all in one place, flocking together. They were ripe for the picking. 

She had caught their scent, followed their trail from Soras Tech where Finn had worked. It turned out that the security company was rotten to the core, knees buried deep in the organized crime business. In a way Quinn was glad Finn never found out about the company’s involvement with the mafia before he died. He never would have worked there if he did, even if he was never directly involved with them himself.

One of the things the company did for the mob was laundry money. Lots of money. Money that mysteriously went missing.

And that was what Finn got framed for in the end. Somehow the money had been ciphened off through Finn’s computer. The company didn’t bother to investigate further than that. They claimed that the money hadn’t been stolen, that they’d stopped it in time but they didn’t want it to get out that one of its own employees got through the system so Finn was simply fired and not arrested. Quinn though it sounded suspicious at the time but was too glad that Finn wouldn’t be going to jail to think too deeply on it.

The truth was the company knew that the mob would handle the issue for them. They knew Finn would die and was glad for it. They thought they didn’t need to tie up their own loose ends.

They didn’t think the mob would have so much trouble tying this one.

Pathetic, Quinn thought as she loaded the gun and hoping she’ll get the chance to get revenge on them too. She wanted to get rid of all of them, the mob boss who coldly ordered Finn’s death, the company’s CEOs who’d been involved with them and stood happily by when Finn was killed, the bastard who framed Finn for his crimes. She wanted to see them with blood on their face, wanted to see the light disappear from their eyes. She wanted to see them beg for mercy, and watch the despair crawling over their face when they realised there wouldn’t be any. The way it happened with Finn...

She was currently running low on resources right now to get to all of them though, but she’d get them eventually somehow. Assuming she doesn’t get arrested first. But, she had more pressing concerns than that at the moment. Right now, her targets were those three, the ones directly involved with Finn’s murder.

She knew that these thugs were just following orders when they came to their home that night, but she was sure that hadn’t been just following orders with all the things they did there. The cheer joy on their faces when they broke Finn told her that much. They were monsters and they enjoyed what they did. 

Well, she was going to enjoy what she was about to do too.

In the end it was quite easy to get to the thugs. After all, they knew they’d left a witness behind when they killed Finn. Quinn knew from the start that they would come after her for what she saw, which was why she d laid low for the past few months, keeping herself away from what’s left of her family, all the while honing her skills.

And when she deemed herself armed and ready, she leaked her location to them and waited. And they came, just like she knew they would.

Idiots were so predictable. Then again, she supposed no one ever really suspected the little housewife to be a monster too.

With the guns loaded and hidden under the laundry basket, Quinn took the house keeper’s cart and made her way over to motel room no. 16. She paused just behind the corridor when she saw that the scumbags had visitors. Three men; two of them obvious thugs. The other one was unconscious and covered in bruises; body slung carelessly over the big one’s shoulder. He looked oddly familiar.

It didn’t matter to her right now though. More people simply meant more corpses. She’d already intended to kill anyone that got in her way.

“Housekeeping” she said sweetly after knocking on the door. She didn’t actually expect for them to open it, even if one of them only peaked out through chained doors.

Idiots indeed, she thought as she blew a hole into idiot no. 1’s head. She felt blood splatter on her face but didn’t stop to wipe it, opting instead to shoot at the chain in the door and kick it open.

One by one the idiots dropped to the floor, shock written all over their faces as they met their swift end. Some of them managed to get their guns out and shot at her, but Quinn was quicker. Speed had always been her forte when it came to shooting, even if she still missed occasionally.

It felt so good to have guns in her hands again; the chill of metal, the curve of the trigger, so much power in the palm of her well manicured hands. So similar to when she held it before, so many years ago; and yet so completely different. Watching those men fall to the ground, eyes lifeless, blood pooling around them, sticky and thick against the ugly carpet; she felt...good. Satisfied.

Accomplished.

It wasn’t anything like what she’d imagine that egotistical, god complex ‘I have power over life and death’ thing to be. She didn’t think of herself that differently, or rather that highly, and while she did feel the rush of the kill it didn’t touch her ego. Though the blood on the walls may say otherwise, Quinn didn't feel like she was on a rampage.

Instead she felt calm, for the first time since Finn’s death. Maybe even before that.

Despite her intelligence and her propensity for scheming, Quinn had felt like her life had been spinning out of control since she was 16; a constant victim of circumstances. Sure, it hadn’t been all bad, in fact there were times when she was much happier than she had been when her life was ‘on track’ as head cheerleader and perfect daughter, but still...

Here and now, with blood on her face and semi-automatics in her hands, she never felt so in control. All the mess of her life melted away. All that was left was her, her weapons, and her victims. Everything was so wonderfully simple.

Maybe she was a sociopath, she thought idly to herself as she lowered her weapons. Everyone else in the room was now dead.

All but one.

The man the thugs had brought in was still bound and gagged. He had laid himself down on the floor in fear; body curled up and shaking.

Quinn moved over to release him. She knew it was stupid leaving witnesses around but despite everything she didn’t have the heart to just kill him. After all, he could be like Finn; at the wrong place, at the wrong time, with a wife and a kid waiting for him to come home. Besides, with the way he was shaking she could probably threaten him into silence; maybe use his family if she had to.

It wasn’t until she got closer that she finally recognised him through the bruised and battered face.

James Whitby from Soras Tech. He sat three desks away from Finn and was there for every football game and bar-b-q. They were on the same bowling league and sang together on Karaoke nights.

The calm was gone in a single second; replaced instead by blood boiling anger that burned right through her soul.

So this was the traitor. The man who gave up the life of a friend, and ruined the lives of his family.

“Please please don’t hurt me,” he begged tearfully as Quinn ripped out the gag. It was exactly what she wanted to hear from him.

“Hello Whitby” she said with a cruel smile. The man’s eyes widened at her voice; finally recognising her.

“Quinn?” Disbelief was written all over his face as he scanned the room, taking in the splashes of dark red and the stillness of the bodies slumped over on the ground.

“So it was you who framed husband,” her voice like ice; and the man curled up even tighter against himself; voice quaking in his denial.

“I-, I have no idea what you’re talking about. They kidnapped me Quinn; I have no idea who they are. Please! You have to help me!”

Whitby wasn’t a very good liar. The guilt was written all over his face, eyes like a cornered animal as he cowered in fear.

Quinn reached for the knife she’d hidden in her shoes.

“You picked the wrong family to screw over,” she said, hovering over him; her small body casting a large shadow over the quivering mess before her.

James Whitby took a very long time to die.

\---------------------------------------------


End file.
